Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) (7 page)

Leaning forward, Sunnie whispered, “Do you know how to use it?”

“I’m the wife of a Marine.”

“Yeah, but...”

“A Marine doesn’t pull his weapon, unless he is prepared to use it.” To kill. “And that’s the way he teaches his wife.” Cupping the bottom of the Sig Sauer, Mavis aimed for the thickest portion of the sixth tree and noted the curling, brown-tipped leaves. Someone had cut a branch for concealment, and the vegetation was slowly dying.

“Have you ever shot someone?”

Mavis shrugged. In all the years she’d been licensed to carry, she’d never shot anyone. Her husband, Jack, had made certain she’d never needed to.

She might need to now.

“I don’t want to shoot anyone.” That wouldn’t be neighborly. Falling back on her training, she emptied her mind, focused on believing the gun was an extension of her hand. Standing, she kept a bead on the target. “But we need to get home. Mr. Quartermain? It’s Mavis, Mavis Spanner, Jack’s wife.”

“I know who you are.” The voice that answered rose then cracked. A male definitely, but not Mr. Quartermain. This was a kid still in the throes of puberty.

Mavis’s eye twitched. His age might make him reckless, more inclined to shoot. But who was he? She scrolled through a mental index file of all the teenage boys in her neighborhood.

“You’re not welcome here anymore, Mrs. Spanner. You’re infected.”

Mavis’s lips twitched. Mrs. Spanner. There was only one person old fashioned enough to insist his grandson address married ladies properly—Mr. Quartermain. God forbid, she should shoot her neighbor’s only surviving grandchild. But what was his name? Kevin, no. Not a K, but a J sound.

“I can assure you that I’m not infected.”

“You went out in public.” Branches stirred in the breeze, except the ones attached to the fort. “You could be sick.”

“Get in the back seat, Sunnie. Keep low to the floor and away from the windows.” Mavis stepped out from behind the car door and pushed it shut with her hip. Aches rolled through her like the rumble of distant thunder. “The public gathering ban has been lifted. There have been no new influenza infections in months. Look at me. I’m not flushed, feverish, coughing or sneezing. I’m healthy.”

The boy stood up, leaving only his legs concealed behind the hunter’s blind. His thin shoulders and pepperoni pizza acne marked him as a teen. X’s marked the location of the Smiley face’s eyes on his gray tee shirt. “How do you know?”

Mavis took a single step toward the front of the car and the lock. “Everyone should know the symptoms of the influenza by now. But I know about the deaths because I tracked the pandemic for the CDC.” She resisted the urge to cross the fingers of her bottom hand. Sure the Centers for Disease Control had used her information and contagion models, but theirs hadn’t been the signature on her paycheck. “I work as an epidemiologist.”

Not such a big lie. She had before she was let go. Kind of.

Now she protected Sunnie, kept her safe. She mentally winced and kept her grip on the gun steady despite the sweat making her palms slippery. Following a gauntlet into an ambush wasn’t exactly a bang-up protection job.

“You’re the government.” Shaggy brown hair blew into the kid’s eyes as he drew the bow’s string back farther. “You’re responsible for killing everyone, for locking us in our houses until we starve, and subjecting us to this totalitarian rule.”

Whoa! Totalitarian rule? Who’d been messing with this kid’s head? The internet, of course. While it had kept people from going crazy during the quarantine, it had also given rise to some bat guano theories. Armed, crazy and young—he was a dangerous trifecta. “The government is not responsible for the influenza.”

“Yes, they are.” The boy nodded. His hair flapped against his forehead and his arm dipped. “North Korea has the proof.”

Sweet Jesus! Her gaze darted to the glowing streetlamp before returning to her target. Time shackled her as she inched another step forward. North Korea again. Mavis hoped some big Chinese military leader just got a fork shoved up his behind. One of those long grilling forks would be nice. “Look, Jasper—”

“Justin.” He raised the arrow, until it pointed at her heart.

“Justin.” Mavis stressed his name. Good gravy, didn’t these kids have to read Shakespeare in school anymore? “The government’s response was as swift as it could be. The CDC issued warnings from the first confirmed case. Press releases went out. It even got a sound byte on TMZ. Nobody listened. People took cold medicine and went to work. Sure, the drugs reduced their symptoms, but they were carriers of the disease, spreading it to everyone through the recycled heating ducts.”

Justin shook his head, but his aim didn’t waver. “The government caused it.”

Mavis held her breath. Please don’t say it.

“You caused it.”

And he said it. Not that she blamed him. Everyone wanted someone to blame. She just didn’t want to be the scapegoat. Mavis reached the front of the Civic and inched along the bumper toward the driver’s side.

“No one is responsible, Justin. A pig in Kansas City was patient zero. He infected the others in the bull pen awaiting slaughter then spread it to all the workers.” Somehow she doubted the kid appreciated the irony that the animal humans used to grow their vaccines had resulted in the deaths of so many. “There were a record number of conventions in the city all wrapping up.” In a perfect example of Murphy’s Law, many of those people traveled around the globe for a living. “People sneezed in taxis and coughed in airports, bus terminals and train stations. Before the first human patient staggered into the emergency room, the influenza had spread around the world.”

“That’s a lie. The virus was manufactured in some pharmaceutical lab. The company got rich, and the politicians forced us into a police state.”

Even from a distance, she could see the bow quiver. Good gravy, the kid shook so much he might accidentally release the arrow. Mavis swallowed despite her dry mouth and looked down her trembling iron sight. He wasn’t the only one that needed to remain calm. “As much as I’d like to debate this issue Justin, we need to go home.”

“You’re not coming into the neighborhood. You’re infected.”

“I’m not infected. I got sick, yes, but I recovered. I’m immune now, just like practically everyone else.” Mavis paused. Using her toe, she righted her loafer then slipped her foot inside. The cold leather was stiff against her heel.

Mavis continued her stroll along the front of the car. Once she got to driver’s side, she’d shoot the lock and drive away. Fortunately, her tires wouldn’t go flat with a couple of arrows in them. It was a good plan.

Provided, Justin didn’t shoot her before she implemented it. “You’re part of the conspiracy.”

Mavis swallowed a groan. One more time. She’d try one more time to get through to him. “You’re smarter than that, Justin. The government needs young, healthy workers. If it had created a disease, it would be to kill off the older population, the welfare sponges and the convicts.”

“Maybe they did create it like you said.” Justin stepped forward until he practically hung over the hunter’s blind. “Maybe it just didn’t work out the way they planned.”

Enough. There would be no reasoning with him now. His paranoia had become too entrenched. Mavis shifted her aim from the center of his chest to his right shoulder. Mr. Quartermain might forgive her for winging his grandson. “I am going home. Now. If you try to stop me, I will shoot you, Justin.”

“I’ll shoot you back.” As if he’d just seen the gun in her hand, he stepped back.

“Bullets are faster than arrows. And I am a crack shot.”

“Justin.” The boy’s name dissolved in a raspy cough. “Lower the bow, Justin. She’s one of the good guys.”

Mavis’s arms sagged and she lost her target. Mr. Quartermain had finally arrived.

Justin glanced at the ground while relaxing the bow string. “But she could be infected.”

“Mrs. Spanner is a doctor. She’d know if she’s been around any infected.” Mr. Quartermain’s black cowboy hat appeared above the branches. When the breadth of his shoulders appeared, he turned to face her. He opened his mouth and coughed. His cheeks flushed red as he pounded on his chest. Finally, he stopped coughing and spit. “Damned emphysema. You want me to come out there and unlock the gate, Ms. Spanner?”

Mavis tucked the gun into the small of her back and retrieved the keys from her pocket. “No, I’ll do it.”

She’d also give the old man a call and make sure he had all his medicines. God forbid Justin should be left in charge of minding the gate. Squatting in front of the lock, Mavis shifted through her keys, until she spied the small silver one. Grabbing hold of the head, she inserted the key into the lock and twisted.

The key didn’t move.

She slid it out again them back in and tried again. First right, then left. Still it didn’t turn. Did she have the right key? She sifted through the ones on her chain. That was the only one that would fit. “Mr. Quartermain, my key is not working.”

“That’s cause I changed the lock after I saw you leave.” Justin smirked.

The little twerp. Yanking out her key, Mavis tucked them into her back pocket and pulled out her gun. “I hope you have another lock.”

Just as she drew a bead on the silver square, an engine rumbled. She glanced over her shoulder. No. No. No! Every organ inside her body collapsed into a black hole, leaving her hollowed out, incapable of movement or thought. All thoughts except one: Fear.

A Humvee rolled around the corner. Red paint scrolled on the side held her attention: We shoot first and let God sort out the pieces.

Chapter Seven

“You see, Sergeant Major, the night might not be a total loss.” In the back seat of the Humvee, Colonel Ryan Lynch tore off another over-sized bite from his triple-patty cheeseburger before using the sandwich to gesture outside the bullet-proof window. Funny how Burgers in a Basket had ran out of free food for the military, yet his CO had managed to snag three. Grease dropped from the lopsided bun, joining the mustard and sesame seeds on the pant leg of his uniform. “You can shoot a few civilians for being out past curfew.”

Taking his attention from the rear-view mirror, David lifted his foot off the gas. His hand dropped to weapon lying on the passenger seat. Yeah, cause that’s what he’d enlisted for—to shoot his fellow Americans.

He gazed ahead, taking in the graffiti smeared brick walls, the burned out cars at ten, eleven and two o’clock. Overflowing dumpsters hunkered at two and three. What remained of the ground cover wouldn’t hide a squirrel. But...

The eucalyptus at one had a partially concealed sniper’s nest. The current occupants were a boy with a bow and arrow and an old man. Were they protecting the neighborhood or looking at the people in the car as prey? He ducked under the strap of his M-4 and switched his attention to the woman.

Well, well, the little missy had a gun. Even if she didn’t know how to use it, she could still do harm. A shadow shifted in the late model Civic. Another person, probably a woman. Maybe armed. Bows and arrows versus guns. That battle had been settled more than a hundred years ago. Still, the Redaction certainly had made life interesting.

And the four in front of him might continue to live so long as they didn’t swing their weapons his way. A noise caused David to shift his attention once more to the backseat.

Colonel Lynch sucked bits of food from his teeth before picking up one of the plastic wrapped toys from Burgers in a Basket. The bagged green, grinning crocodile swung from his glistening fingers. White powdered desiccant clung to the toy’s belly. “A little bloodshed always makes things more interesting.”

David kept his expression neutral. The Redaction hadn’t brought out the best in everyone. The CO, in particular, had degenerated into a butt-ugly caricature.

Diamonds glittered in the black and platinum Hublot watch hanging from the CO’s wrist and his footlocker had more sparkle and glitter than a dragon’s hoard. “You won’t get to shoot anyone in the DMZ. North Korea is just blustering. As usual.”

Asshole. The prick had dangled the carrot of active duty in front of David for a full fifteen minutes before demanding he chauffeur him to his daily knob polishing appointment. What were privates for, if not to do the grunt work?

David stopped the Humvee behind the Civic and shifted the truck into park. The woman gripped the Sig-Sauer by her thumb and index finger and held it away from her body. The boy and old man had disappeared from sight. He scanned the hunter’s blind. Bastards had no doubt left the women alone to be shot.

Not the first incidence of cowardice he’d encountered.

Not likely to be the last.

David checked his body armor before resting his hand against his gun’s grip. “Shall I clear the road, sir?”

Colonel Lynch’s left cheek bulged. “Call in the tanks.” Bits of masticated beef and bun dotted his lips. “There’s got to be one around the corner somewhere. The damn jarheads are probably gambling rather than doing their jobs.”

David locked his jaw tight. The Marines had become Colonel Asshole’s favorite refrain. Missing MREs—the Marines’ appetites were notorious. Looted mansion—Marine laxity. Missing personal effects—the Marine’s had provided security for the transport of the valuables to the Medical Examiner’s office. Now he’d use the Corps to needlessly slaughter two women.

Not on his fucking watch. Still, David reached obediently for his radio just as a head appeared between the branches of a eucalyptus tree. In the silence, metal scraped brick before an aluminum ladder was seesawed over the top of the fence then lowered to the street side. The old man moved cautiously from the fence to the other ladder before climbing down. The boy quickly followed. Neither had a visible weapon.

David swallowed his curse. The brave idiots. They’d be flesh shrapnel if his plan didn’t work. “I’ll patch you through, Colonel Lynch. You’ll have to use official channels to let the Corps know that the Army needs its help in dealing with two women, an elderly man, and a boy.”

The words hung in the Humvee’s grease-scented interior. One second passed, then two. His chest tightened and the knuckles of his radio hand bleached to white. Shit. Had he underestimated the CO’s pride?